Succumbing to Obscurity
by Rhav
Summary: One has always wondered, how a masked hero would react, if his instinct was not enough. If his ethics challenged, and their presupposed world view was tainted by a kind heart. Is there a chance, that there are a few who refuse to succumb to the evil?
1. Instigation

**Rated: **M for most of everything  
**Creator:** Rav aka Rhav  
**Characters:** Matilda Taggart  
**Other:** Enjoy it! And leave comments as you wish!  
**Disclaimer:** I didn't write the book or make the movie.

**I N S T I G A T I O N**

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**M**atilda stared at the box in her pallid hands, cerulean eyes trailing the jagged edges of the shoebox pensively. Said box, with it's peppered sides and tattered edges, contained every detail of Matilda Taggart's life. Perhaps not every aspect of her nineteen year old existence, but the ones she liked to remember the most at least. Save her two suitcases, this box, was all that Mattie (as her father liked to call her) had in her possession. It would be unfair of me to say Mattie was poor, when though she lacked in the way of financial stability, she was wealthy in both knowledge, and optimism. I guess it's said best when I say, in her pocket was merely two-hundred dollars-- enough to buy a small apartment in the bustling New York City, and food for a week.

Sitting beside her was a newspaper. The page was creased perfectly at the classified section, black marker circled at least several ads for wanted help. The offers varied, from a minimum wage waitress, to a secretary. They were all decent jobs however, and any woman starting out on her own, would be happy to accept any of them. But NYC is a big city, housing thousands of people, the only hope Mattie had among the unemployed, was her innocent appeal. Most liked to take advantage of that, a select few encouraged it, respected it. Among those that cherished Mattie's unwavering sense of justice and lack of iniquity, was her father, Simon, God rest his soul. I would like to say that Mattie's mother felt the same, but unfortunately, her mother left her soon after birth, leaving the newborn in the care of a mildly incapable, inexperienced father. He faired well however, better than most, and he seemed to have raised the perfect child. Not to say Matilda never had an wicked thought, or broke rules, and it's only within a child's nature to challenge a parent's authority, but she was respectful, and benevolent, merely wanting to please people, or earn their praises. She exhibited most of her father's morals, and was quite satisfied with being a farmer's daughter. As Simon Taggart's daughter, not only did Matilda show displeasure for immorally corrupt individuals, but she shared his dream of moving to New York City. She could only oblige to her imaginings, after his death, upon leaving both all his life savings and a train ticket straight to the Big Apple. Of course, she didn't know what to do, she had never travelled anywhere in the entirety of her life, nor had she really been a 'social butterfly, per se. Her life had been humbly albeit lazily played out in the sun of a small Wisconsin town, of course doubts had seized her since the moment she realized her father had planned her trip to city long before he fell terminally ill with cancer. But if one thing could be said about Matilda Taggart, it was that she was far from a coward, so she made up her mind to leave. With a few very wise decisions, she left the farm in the care of a friend with most the cash her father left her, and took nothing but two suitcases and a shoebox full of memories.

She lifted her hands slightly from the box, running a finger along the edge farthest from her chest, mouth hitched downward in an anxious crease. Her eyes lifted to the window, watching the passing scenery monotonously, mind numbed to the reality she had yet to truly let cave in on her. Mattie hadn't cried yet, not a single tear, but somehow she could feel the swelling emotion in the pit of her stomach. The pain was sharp, travelling upwards to the core of her throat, before fervently causing small gasps of prolonged misery and resentment. But, no matter how hard she tried to push it out, she couldn't cry. Her body was too exhausted, too anesthetized to allow that. Most didn't want to cry, in this case, Mattie would have given anything to let it all out. To finally let the daunting reality crumble atop her.

Slowly, her fingertips dragged across the skin of her throat, trembling slightly, until they stopped on her collarbone, resting there. She closed her eyes, letting the pain expand for a moment in her throat, before collapsing to the undulates of grief back in the trench of her abdomen. Her eyes fluttered open, hands dropping to her lap as the train began to lurch to a rusty halt. Quickly, she snapped her head to the left, she was here. The conductor squawked over the loudspeaker, announcing their arrival, in return the young girl gripped her shoebox fretfully. New York city, at last.

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It was going to rain again. Walter Kovacs was irrefutably sure of this. His short but lean frame was crutched against a brick wall, hazel eyes darting across the rumbling, ominous thunderheads looming overhead. Propped firmly in his hands, was a dirty picket sign. Written sloppily albeit legibly in black lettering, read the words "The End Is Nigh." People took this phrase in many different ways, but Walter liked to think it helped confirm their qualms a bit.

Languidly, he lifted his gloved hand to rub the edge of his jaw, eyes slowly wandering the busy streets before him. It was still early, but Walter couldn't help but long to have his face back. When he was Rorschach, people respected him. Respected him out of fear. When he was Walter Joseph Kovacs, people saw him as an urchin, nothing more than a lunatic, shouting his beliefs upon the deaf ears of the lost. But he did it anyway. At first, perhaps he'd only taken it up to convince them of their mistakes, of the inevitable future awaiting them. But as the months dragged on, and he was able to witness the cruelty of the city, he realized how lost of a cause it was. Now, he wasn't sure if he did it for them, or for himself. It was comforting, when for a moment, he could believe it was worth it, but then the lingering doubt, would creep up on him in the best of times, and the hope would shatter. Luckily he had a reprieve; Rorschach. He could escape the world filled the lust, with human doubt, and take on justice in it's unaltered form. He could be someone who changed things. Someone that was feared. Someone, people would listen to, whether forced or otherwise.

Walter delved into his pocket, rummaging for a moment, before pulling out a cube of Sweet chariot sugar. Slowly he unwrapped it, and flicked the wrapper away. Popping the cube into his mouth, he sighed gruffly, flicking his eyes to a taxi that had pulled up in front of him. He observed the passenger for a moment, before pushing off the wall, and adjusting the grip on his sign. Today was slow for the city. It seemed the day had barely crawled by. Depressing, to most, but Walter enjoyed the rain, it made the world look how it ought to appear. Dark. He sidestepped past a bustling man, gazing long after the pedestrian before bringing his attention back to the taxi. A young woman it seemed. She definitely wasn't from the city, nor great wealth, like most tourists. He watched her for a few moments, before losing interest and turning around. No one in this city interested him. They were all the same. Wading waist deep in their sin and fornication. Nothing would ever appeal to him, not as long as the human race kept diving deeper into the darkness.

He could remember being younger, and judging a woman. He could recall the term attractive, pretty, but it had been so long since he had last even thought of such words. But, if Walter had been a man to compliment a woman, he might have said she was quite nice. But that part of him, had died long ago, along with any part of him that thought women were gentle, innocent creatures. He could thank his mother for such a lesson. His head turned slightly, watching the women take two suitcases from the taxi driver, and juggle them in her hands. He sniffed at the sight, and walked forward, away from the taxi. He'd never been the chivalrous type anyway.

"Excuse me, sir," he heard the tiny, soft voice from behind him. He paused, only for a moment, his eyes rotated irritated to the left, and he let out a small sigh, holding his sign with one hand, he turned ever so slightly to face the woman. Expecting himself to be looking directly at a woman about his size (a well known fact in the masker hero ring, Rorschach couldn't exactly boast about his size) he was surprised to find his eyes falling just short. She was small, petite, an easy victim for a man. She wouldn't last long here. Still turned halfway, a look of disinterest on his face, Walter stared blankly at her. The petite woman set her baggage down and scrounged through her pockets a moment, before presenting him with a small slip of paper. "Can you tell me where this address is?" she said sheepishly. He noticed her lack of eye contact, the small twitches in her face, her hesitant distance. He was certain she would be carrion to the city in less than a week. Vultures would pick her clean with ease.

His eyes dropped down to her outstretched hand, the crumpled paper fluttered in the wind for a moment, before limply swinging in between her thumb and forefinger. His indifference was obvious as he slouched slightly, and reached forward gingerly, slipping the paper from her hand in a quick snatch, and withdrawing, as if she were a viper. Intimidated by his quick movements, she took a step back, crossing her arms protectively. Walter stared down at the paper, his stare still vacant. What a surprise. She was looking for his apartment building. Of course she was. He ran his thumb over the lettering, and nodded slowly, looking back at her, and noticed her reclaimed steps. He didn't blame her. He was about as enthusiastic about human contact as she was. He lifted his arm, and pointed across the street.

"Three blocks, in that direction," he said, in his gruff, monotone voice. The woman, smiled awkwardly, and nodded, gawkily gathering her things, and tucking a shoebox under her arm. She thanked him quietly, and scuttled off, glancing over her shoulder anxiously at him. The city would eat her alive. Walter Kovacs was irrefutably sure of this.

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"A hundred will get you two months doll." Mattie sighed, looking down at the money in her hand, then raised her gaze carefully to study the landlady. On of her many children, was hiding quietly behind her leg, dressed in shabby clothes, unwashed, and frightened. From frequent unnecessary beatings, Mattie was sure. She could only speculate. "Take it or leave, either way you ain't gonna find nuthin betta than here. Not for a long time. That's okay, I hear the subway has nice benches," he gruff, strained voice came, a dripping sneer stitched across her chapped lips. Mattie slouched somewhat, and gave in, slapping the money into the landladies hand. "Smart girl," she said, gesturing with finger to a room. Matilda turned, looking at the door with a crooked digit on the door. "No smoking, no pets, no loud music, and keep it clean. Don't paint anything either," she snapped, counting the bills with her thumb. Mattie nodded and trudged to the apartment door. She glanced to the door next to hers, and wrinkled her nose slightly. It smelled awful, no wonder she had strict rules.

She shimmied the key into the lock, and turned it, giving it a good wiggle before shoving the door open roughly with her foot. Mattie walked slowly inside, and shut the door behind her. It was small, to say the least, but it was clean, and came with a bed and appliances. Not to mention, a decent view. She shuffled across the dusty floor, and set her bags on the bed. Sitting gently beside them. What was next? She reached into her pocket for the list. Nothing but lint. Reaching in her other, she produced nothing but a folded hundred dollar bill. Sighing deeply, she rubbed her eyes, remembering she left it with the man that had pointed her in the right direction. Yes. What a strange man. He seemed… bleak, mysterious. Someone she would not enjoy meeting at the end of a dark alley. He smelled odd too, cheaply covered up with after shave and a sweet smell of sugar. Either way, he could keep her paper, she wasn't going back for it, that was for sure.

Mattie could feel the growling in the pit of her stomach. That was it. She needed food. Shopping, right after she unpacked of course. Standing up, she dusted off the seat of her pants, and walked the window, yanking open the blinds. A dust cloud formed in her face, swirling particles landing all about her. She sneezed, waving a hand in front of her. Well, at least it was somewhat brighter. She then went about putting her clothes in a stand beside her bed, and arranging her book collection on the kitchen counter beside the sink, held up with two unsightly bricks. It was shabby, but it would do. She wasn't too worried about furnishings, not until she had money to fix the place up. In her exploration on the cupboards, she found two cans of soup, and came upon a mouse nibbling on an old stale cracker. By the time her unpacking was finished, Mattie's stomach had been reduced a painful consistent grumbling. Gathering up her things, she was just heading out the door, when she heard the familiar scratchy voice of her landlady.

_"I told you, get rid of that smell, it's making me sick!" _Now, naturally, Matilda had always been a curious creature, she hadn't changed much over the years either. Opening the door slightly, she stuck her head out, hearing a pair of footsteps clap up the stairs in her direction. Her neighbour. The landlady yelled increasingly angered up the stairs, two of her children crying behind her raging voice. To make it appear, as if she was not eavesdropping, Mattie quickly stepped outside, and shut the door, shoving the key in the lock and looking quietly down at her hands. The footsteps stopped, a thin air of tension swirling behind her, where he or she (the neighbour) stood. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, awaiting some sort of greeting, anything to break the silence.

As she locked the door, she was forced to turn around, and was shocked to face to face with the man who had given her directions. Had he followed her? Was he stalking her? His icy glare sat unwaveringly cold on her a moment, before he started for the door. No. Not a stalker, her neighbour. She clenched her fists anxiously, and waited him to leave fully, before darting down the stairs like a frightened rabbit. Nothing good could possibly come from this.

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**Rorschach's Journal. April 4th, 1966.**

Tracked a rapist today. Sat outside apartment for an hour. Had family, two kids. Wife too. Responsible for two deaths. Didn't consider showing mercy. Deserved to die. An eye for an eye. Waited until morning. When he left for work. Big time lawyer, respectable to the public eye. All these sycophants, pompous smooth talkers without faces, think money can fix everything. Make their sin go away. Rich snobs, egotistical, hiding underneath their fake identities. Think, just because their rich, justice does not apply to them. This city doesn't see, who they are underneath. But I do. They are afraid of me. Call me radical, homicidal. But not just. Never just. I don't need their approval.

Visited Nite Owl today. Seems different. Indulgent. He'll be like the rest soon. Like that infested whore. Sitting in her retirement home, decaying into the errant life she chose. Admired him. It's a shame. They all take to the darkness. But not me. Never compromise. Not even in the face of Armageddon.

New neighbour. Quiet. Should be no trouble. Last one not so quiet. Caused problems. Landlady complained about smell today. Three kids. Always more. New neighbour wont last long. Soon she will be carrion to the scavengers of this city. Should have stayed away. This city consumes souls, and leaves no hope.


	2. Hospitality

**Rated: **M for most of everything  
**Creator:** Rav aka Rhav  
**Characters:** Matilda Taggart  
**Other:** Enjoy it! And leave comments as you wish!  
**Disclaimer:** I didn't write the book or make the movie.

**H O S P I T A L I T Y  
**

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**M**atilda sat slouched in a chair at her dining table, dismal, cerulean pools staring down at a scrap of paper before her. It had been read frequently, easily inferred from the various wrinkles and rips. The room was silent, the only sound was the rain falling liberally outside her window. Rivulets running down the pane, dropping into even smaller veins before pouring down into the rusted gutters below. It had started raining since late the evening. Mattie could recall, she hadn't slept, kept awake by mumblings next door, and the sound of her landlady making love to a complete stranger. Her soft bruised eyes creased languidly, lips slightly chapped from her constant anxiety that had crept upon her at three in the morning. When she first began to hear his dreams.

By dreams, one can only guess I mean her neighbor. She wouldn't blame it on him, still awake even as he first muttered _"Mother,"_ in his blissful sleep. She was jealous, envious of his unwavering slumber, yet so very disturbed by whatever nightmare had seized him. She had laid there, wide awake, eyes slightly bloodshot, covers thrown from her and pushed to the foot of the bed. At first, she thought it was the little statuette on her nightstand, speaking to her. Mattie thought, she had finally lost it. She rolled to her side, reluctantly, and stared at the little copper man apprehensively. His bearded face looking back, she awaited his next utterance with bated breath. The silence remained, until a sharp cry shot from the lower floor, causing Mattie to sit directly up, and cover her ears, squeezing her eyes shut and letting out a staggered gasp. She carefully turned and gazes at the little statuette, hands still boxing her ears. He was silent.

Slowly, she placed her feet on the cold wood floor, and stood up, the floor creaking under her movement. She gently crouched by her nightstand, and snaked a hand around her little copper statue. A disturbing moan came from the room next door, and she snapped her head to the right. Her eyes played along the copper man, realizing it was not him, and she was not crazy. Mattie sighed with a tone of relief, and sat back on her knees, gazing at the clock. It was too early to be this wide awake. The neighbor stirred again in his sleep, he seemed troubled. Gently, she lifted herself to her feet, and padded into the kitchen.

No sooner had she poured herself a glass of water, had the landlady started up again. If the lights were on, one would be able to clearly see the young woman blushing and pursing her lips, fingers lightly touching them in embarrassment. Mattie swallowed down her water, and hesitantly returned to her bed. Before laying down once more, she shoved the copper statuette into the drawer, and closed it quickly, as if afraid of what he might do. Curling under her comforter, Mattie tucked her head under her pillow, and prayed that the noise stop, though she knew it would do her no good. Sleep was something, as of late, she could not acquire.

_"Stop,"_ was mumbled gruffly beside her, and Mattie's looked grimly at the wall, presuming his bed must have been positioned exactly like hers. How else would she be able to hear him so easily? She decided, if this was going to be a regular occurrence, she'd be moving her bed across the room. She hoped however, the landlady would not have gentleman callers this late at night any longer. She wondered how the others occupants faired, though she was the only one directly above her, it was quite derisorily loud. She pushed the pillow closer to her head, hoping to block out the opposites being chanted throughout her room. If she could not find sleep, she at least hoped the others would. The silence was more welcoming, as numb and cold as it felt. As much as it sent the pit of her stomach alight, her throat throbbing with the distressing pain. Silence, pain, was better than this. On one hand, she felt deeply for the man beside her, separated only by a thin layering of drywall, moaning angrily at apparently, his mother; and on the other, she felt pangs of anxiousness and discomfiture with the pleasurable chants from below. It frightened her that the man that had stared so coldly, so resolutely, was laying only a foot from her, drowning in his past, his dark dreams.

And so, she had not slept at all, save for the five minutes she caught at the peak of dawn. It was safe to say, Mattie was exhausted .Physically, mentally and emotionally. Yet none of this was enough to diminish her sanguine outlook on her fresh start. Staring vacantly at this paper, this letter, she tried to find the silver lining, forced herself to believe everything would be fine. The letter, sitting before her, was from her father. Before his death. It was poorly written, with numerous grammatical errors and several scribbling, trying to blot out words. As illegible as it seemed, the emotion was apparent. Simon had loved his daughter, and wanted to convey said emotion as best her could, in a way she would appreciate. He knew she was a writer, and would most likely find his words as precious to her as if they were spoken. And she did. Much more than he would have even hoped. They were a constant reminder to her, on why she was here, and why she should pick up the shattered pages, and move on.

Mattie finally lifted her eyes to the sound of a timer. She stared blankly at the far wall, and tried to remember why it was going off. Cookies. She quickly stood up, the chair screeching across the floor in rejection. Slipping on a potholder, she lifted a pan from the stove and set it down, taking a few steps back to admire her work. She smiled just slightly, lips hitched upwards in a satisfied little grin. The smell reminded her of home, of her father. She had apprehended a moment of lucidity, something she had not done in a very long while.

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Walter was sleeping in again. Of course he was. That was normal. Gallivanting about New York at night, in the rain, took a lot out of a man. He hated his apartment however, he liked it much better, at night, when he didn't have to look at it. He had fallen asleep in his costume that night, his face still on, wet, stinking of death. It wasn't a productive night, causing him to turn in earlier than usual. He'd only just recently awoken, to the pounding on his door. He knew exactly who it was, and he didn't care to answer. She was just going to complain some more, children hanging off of every limb, the scent of fornication and indulgence fresh on her dirty clothes. He felt no remorse for her, nor had any mercy. Nothing compelled him to help, to care. She persistently slammed her grubby fists on his door, until he stalked towards it, pulling it open with a blank stare. There she stood in all her infamous glory, a child on her hip, and two around her legs. Each of them with diverse features, different coloured hair. Their noses, their mouths, their eyes. They had no father, no mother either, if you thought about it.

_"Where is my rent? I said you had till the end of this week!"_ she squawked, her brow rutted forward, her lips pursed angrily. He studied her for a moment, and sighed, shutting the door and walking across the room to his coat. Walter rummaged through the pockets absently, and produced two twenty dollar bills. Something he lifted from the rapist a few days ago. He sighed, walking back to the door ,and opening it, only to hear her complain some more, now causing the baby to cry. He set his jaw, handing her the money and slamming the door closed. Hopefully she would be happy with what he gave her, and not return until next week. Or later. It was like feeding a stray cat for Christ's sake.

Annoyed, he sat in a chair beside the window, glaring out at the city below. A noise next door caused him to snap his neck to the left, staring at the wall the connected with hers. Which reminded him, how annoying it was to have to walk past her. She stared a bit too much, and he felt she might be slightly suspicious of him. She stared at him some sort of pity, and he did not appreciate that. At all. He wanted her to be afraid, revolted, anything but pity him. Walter could tell she was intimidated by him, but curiosity was overriding her instincts. Curiosity fuelled by something he had not anticipated. Perhaps she had heard something? No. What could she have possibly heard? Walter wasn't exactly the talkative type. Whatever it was that was acting as some sort of catalyst, had to be stopped. He didn't need anyone watching him closer than needed, he didn't need to draw any suspicion.

Slowly he stood up, and shuffled to the fridge, pulling open the door and staring blankly inside. There was nothing, save for an empty jar and spoiled milk. Among most of the things he disliked, shopping was one of them. He did most of his eating on the job, therefore shopping was usually never an issue for him. No food, no money. He was invariably screwed. But Walter was accustomed to such things, and fought of the biting hunger with a simple shoving of the fridge door. He paused however, a knock at the door causing him to bristle and stare irately at the door. She was back? What did she want now? Walter reverted to his original tactic. Ignoring her. He was just going to get ready to go out again.

He went about finally taking off his trench coat, wondering what the landlady must have thought when she saw him in it. He slipped on his green jacket and gloves, but not before another knock came at the door. This time, he stalked to the door and flung it open, glaring icily forward. But familiarly, he had to drop his gaze a few inches, to meet the eyes on his neighbour. His fingers curled against the door frame, and he narrowed his hazel eyes, staring vacantly at her. Her eyes immediately averted to the floor, and she mumbled for a moment before clearing her throat. "I thought… I thought you might like these," she said softly, presenting him with a plate of cookies. His right brow twitched curiously, and he stared down at the cookies. You have got to be kidding me. Cookies? He tilted his head ever so slightly, and tried to make some sense of this. She hardly even knew him. No, scratch that, she didn't know him at all. Why was she doing this? He hesitantly reached forward, and took the plate in one hand quickly bringing it to his side. In return, she smiled somewhat, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. Walter sighed, and knew he would have to thank her. Oh come on, she brought him cookies. He had to admit, somewhere deep, deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew it was the right thing to do. She was the first person… in a very long time to ever show some sort of concern for him. He cleared his throat somewhat, and looked down at the plate of cookies.

"Er… thank… you…?" he said gracelessly, scratching the back of his head and looking up to see her reaction. She was smiling broadly now, her hands protectively crossed over her chest, hugging herself tightly. He could see she was pleased with his thanks, and nodded once, backing up into his apartment and touching the door. She nodded ineptly and waved lightly shuffling away, tripping slightly on her way. He couldn't help but roll his eyes while shutting the door roughly. Cookies. Well, at least he had food. That was an upside to the situation. Walter touched the cookies gingerly with his fingers, and sighed, shaking his head at the girl's generosity. Strange. Very strange. He half expected them to be poisoned. Pitiably, he had never experienced such trepidation before, it is befuddled him to no end.

Lightly, he picked up one of the sweets, and looked at it in the palm of his hand. She was… very strange. His curiosity was escalating, and he didn't like the thought of that. But admitting this, one had to be inquisitive about a person, who showed interest in a complete stranger. Not just interest, but an odd sense of concern.

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Dan looked down at his project, his lip tightly clenched between his teeth in concentration. Reaching up, he wiped the perspiration from his brow with a quick swipe of the back of his hand. He sighed lightly, shifting on his feet and hunching over the workbench. Before him lay his goggles, the lens placed gently on a towel, exposing the innards to their creator. He stretched his hand, shaking his head once and delving back into the goggles with the small tools between his index finger and thumb. Dan had recently been developing an improved pair of his goggles. Something more durable, that needed less attention when exposed to water. His oldest pair seemed to malfunction when exposed to profuse amounts of liquid. He figured this out the hard way, when they failed while opposing an enemy, causing him to lose sight, and fall from a building. Luckily, it was the first floor, and his cape had given him some flotation. Still, he wasn't going to be taking another chance like that. These were still in the beta stage, but things were looking quite promising.

Dan stepped back, setting his tools down , and sighing quietly, a small smile stitched onto his face. There the goggles sat before him, ready for the next escapade made by the prowler known as the Nite Owl. Dusting his hands on the back of his pants, Dan reached forward, picking up the goggles and slipping them over his head. He quickly he leaned forward and flicked off the light. The goggles came to life, lighting everything up perfectly. Dan smiled victoriously to himself, turning to view Archie in the bright jade lights. As he turned, he came face to face with slowly, eddying black stigmas. He jumped, stepping backwards and knocking down several stacked boxes.

"Sorry Dan," a rasping voice emitted icily through the darkness. Dan sighed deeply, placing a hand over his chest to steady the sudden jump in his heartbeat. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Don't worry Rorschach, you didn't," Dan replied, straightening the goggles and clearing his throat hoarsely. "I was just finishing up the touches on my new goggles," he said with a small grin. Stalking over to the light switch, he flipped it on, turning around to see Rorschach just behind him, leaning on the workbench. Dan tilted his head slightly, pulling the goggles from his head and dangling them from his fingers at his side. "I'll just… put these up and we can go," he said, placing the equipment on a shelf and glancing at Rorschach over his shoulder. "Something…. Bothering you?" he said, placing his glasses on and straightening them on the bridge of his nose. Rorschach shook his head slowly.

"No," he responded gruffly, staring blankly at Dan. Somehow, his partner was convinced. Dan had been around Rorschach for some time now, and he knew every little movement down to a science. But he also knew better than to annoy Rorschach, it was a simple rule. Don't piss him off. He'd learned that rather quickly, maybe more quickly than anyone else. Of course Dan had admired him for the start. He was consistent, unwavering, and had a strong sense of justice. Never comprising, unable to bribe, unable to evoke mercy from. "New goggles? What for?" he rasped, crossing his arms and looking indifferently at his partner.

"Oh… erm, little run in with the schematics. They're not as water resistant as I had first anticipated," Dan replied, hitching his mouth to the side and shrugging. "You're sure, nothing is wrong?" he pushed, just a little, in hopes of an answer. However, as he looked back at his friend, he noticed he was now circling Archie. Well, that door was obviously closed. Dan could take a hint. "I'll just… change and be right there," he said quietly, watching the man open Archie up and climb inside. Dan quickly went about putting his costume on, slipping on his new goggles on instead of the old, obsolete pair. He'd become a professional at dressing quickly, so it didn't take more than a few moments before he had alternated between egos, becoming the ever famous Nite Owl. He locked the cellar door, double checked all his 'gadgets' and padded towards Archie, finding Rorschach sitting on a seat, chewing inaudibly on one of his sugar cubes. "That can't be healthy for your teeth," Dan commented, closing the hatch and sitting in his chair. Rorschach replied with a succinct 'hurm' and continued chewing. Dan shook his head, smirking slightly and going about testing the board before him. He paused, turning his head and looking curiously at Rorschach. "Wait a minute. That isn't sugar…" he said, turning somewhat in his chair and staring. Rorschach chewed quietly, not moving his gaze a single centimeter. Dan smiled a wolfish grin, "Are you eating… cookies?" he said, with an amusing tone coloring his voice. Rorschach didn't answer, just pulled his mask down and glanced at Dan seriously. "You are!" he said, slapping his knee and giving a small chuckle. "Where on earth?"

"Neighbor." Rorschach answered offhandedly, turning his head slowly too look at his partner.

"Your neighbor gave you cookies?" Dan asked skeptically. Rorschach nodded in response. "Why?" he asked with a quirked brow.

"Dunno."

"Please tell me it's a woman…" Dan said, holding his breath. Rorschach nodded, and Dan sighed thankfully. Well, that was a good thing, for various reasons. His partner stood up, coming to stand by Dan. "Alright, alright, we're going," he sighed, turning around and powering Archie up. "Cookies," he chuckled, shaking his head.

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**Rorschach's Journal. April 6th, 1966.**

Fell asleep in gear again. Woke up to the sound of landlady wanting rent. Neighbor visited today. Had cookies. Confused. Strange. More trouble than first perceived. Better keep an eye on her. Saw he in market yesterday, helping an elderly woman. Very strange.

Slow night. Missing child case. Dead end. These underworld sycophants have many names. They hide. Like rats. Rats in a sewer. Among the garbage and the filth. Up to their throat in their transgression and fornication. darker.

Talked to Dan. Seemed concerned. Too much concern.


End file.
